


A Mutual Trust

by The_German_Grim_Reaper



Series: A Mutual Trust [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark Will Graham, Episode: s01e07 Sorbet, Episode: s01e08 Fromage, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Will Graham Finds Out, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham is a Cannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27068059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_German_Grim_Reaper/pseuds/The_German_Grim_Reaper
Summary: Will excuses himself from Hannibal's dinner party for his "date with the Chesapeake Ripper."  Hannibal tells him to stay.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: A Mutual Trust [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979785
Comments: 31
Kudos: 596





	A Mutual Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this meme: https://theevilcactus.tumblr.com/post/632062205263757312/a-white-ravenstag-date-night-remember-that-time
> 
> Also, I'm open to alternate title suggestions

“Are you sure you can’t stay?”

Hannibal was standing in his kitchen, doing something complicated with tomatoes and something just too thick to be called blood. He’d explained what he was doing to Will, but Will had been a bit distracted to really follow. Hannibal seemed just as at home here, measuring out ingredients, as he had in the back of the ambulance with his arms elbow-deep in a man’s guts. Will had known he’d used to be a surgeon, of course, but seeing it in action had been something else.

“I, uh, don’t think I’d be good company,” he admitted, holding the bottle of wine awkwardly in his hands. It was good wine by Will’s standards, but he got the feeling it was probably rather cheap for someone of Hannibal’s caliber. Still, he’d felt awkward arriving with nothing, especially considering he was only here to tell Hannibal that he _wouldn’t_ be here.

“I disagree,” Hannibal said simply. There was a moment of silence and then he continued. “What became of Mr Silvestri’s donor?”

“You saved his life.” Will gave Hannibal a small smile. “It was very impressive,” he couldn’t help but add.

Hannibal’s face remained stoic. “It’s been many years since I used my scalpel on anything but a pencil. I’m glad to hear that my efforts paid off.”

Will considered that briefly. “Why did you stop being a surgeon?” He asked after a moment, reasoning that Hannibal seemed to consider him a friend for whatever reason and probably wouldn’t be too upset by the question.

“I killed someone.” Hannibal admitted. “Or more accurately, I couldn’t save someone, but it felt like killing them.”

“You were an Emergency Room surgeon. It has to happen from time to time.”

“It happened one time too many. I’ve transferred my passion for anatomy into the culinary arts. I fix minds instead of bodies and no one has died as a result of my therapy.”

There was another brief moment of silence. “I should go,” Will said reluctantly, setting his bottle of wine down on the counter.

“Must you?” Hannibal asked, sounding almost a touch disappointed. Will couldn’t imagine why Hannibal would possibly _want_ him there, but he didn’t ask.

“Yeah. I’ve got a date with the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will was about to turn and leave, but something stopped him. There was a flicker of… _something_ in Hannibal’s expression that made him stay where he was.

The emotion was gone before Will could properly determine what it was. “I’m sure he won’t mind if you take one night off from work.”

Will laughed, shaking his head. “Are you talking about Jack or the Ripper? Because either way, I should probably get back to work.” Jack was desperate to catch the Ripper, regardless of the toll it had on Will’s mental health, and the Ripper probably wanted Will to take _every_ night off so he wouldn’t get caught. “Enjoy the wine,” he added, giving Hannibal a small smile as he turned to go.

“Will.” Hannibal reached across the counter, his nimble fingers wrapping around Will’s wrist. Will stopped and looked down at them, trying not to think about how those same fingers had been holding a man’s kidney in place not twenty-four hours ago. “Stay.”

“The Ripper…” Will protested, but it was half-hearted. If he was being honest with himself, he _wanted_ to stay.

“I’m sure he won’t mind,” Hannibal said again, and this time there was something else to the words. Something strangely insistent that made Will’s brows furrow as he looked up into the doctor’s eyes, trying to figure out what it was he was seeing. And then…

“ _Oh_ ,” Will breathed, his veins turning to ice. But that couldn’t be what Hannibal meant, could it? It wasn’t… but the scary thing was that it made _sense_. Hannibal fit the profile perfectly. Will didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to accept that the one person he trusted above all else was capable of that sort of brutality, but everything was slotting into place in his mind. Older male, white, former surgical experience. A taste for elegance and an eye for aesthetics. The ability to save a man from bleeding out from a botched surgery despite, by his own admission, not having been a surgeon for many years. “I don’t…”

He wasn’t sure what the other caterers were thinking. Hannibal had just practically admitted to being a serial killer, right in front of all of them, and no one seemed to bat an eye. And he _had_ admitted it; Will had no doubt that if Hannibal hadn’t wanted him to know, he wouldn’t be standing here right now. Hannibal could easily have let him leave and Will would have been none the wiser. Although, to be fair, he had worded it in such a way that the caterers probably hadn’t picked up on it at all.

“Join me for dinner, Will,” Hannibal said, his voice softer. He was still holding Will’s wrist, but his grip was loose and Will knew he could easily pull away if he wanted to. Hannibal wouldn’t kill him, not here, not with the caterers right there and so many guests about to arrive in the other room.

Will’s eyes darted to the countertop, to the mixture of tomatoes in sow’s blood that sat untouched in a serving dish. “Sow’s blood, huh?” he asked quietly, looking back at Hannibal. He wondered if he looked as lost as he felt. Where were they meant to go from here?

“You’ve never complained about my cooking before,” Hannibal pointed out neutrally. Despite his level tone of voice, Will could sense a slight unease in his expression. He wasn’t sure how Will was going to react. He wasn’t tense, didn’t seem to be reaching for a weapon, but his gaze was fixed on Will’s with a sort of quiet intensity. Willing him to understand, almost… resigned to what would happen if he didn’t.

And Will _did_ understand. He wished he didn’t, but he did. He’d never been able to see the Ripper clearly before, but now, staring into Hannibal’s eyes, it was like he could see inside every nook and cranny of his brain. He understood why Hannibal did it, and worse of all, he _appreciated_ it. He’d always found the Ripper’s kills to be elegant, but now with this new understanding they were _beautiful_ , and he didn’t know how to feel about that. Or about the fact that, apparently, Hannibal had been secretly feeding him human meat since the moment they’d met.

“I should really go.” His voice was shaky. He made no move to leave.

“Stay, and after the party, we can discuss this.”

“Do you really want me around _people_ right after…?”

Hannibal considered it. “Stay in one of my guest rooms. Take as much time as you need to think about it. After the party, I’ll bring you some food and we can talk.”

Will nodded slowly, casting another glance at the innocent-looking tomatoes in that thick sauce. “All right. I can do that.”

He shouldn’t. He should be pulling out his gun, running for the door, calling for Jack’s help. He should be shouting Hannibal’s secret from the rooftops. He was going to do none of those things.

Hannibal gave him a smile. “Follow me. I’ll find somewhere you can be comfortable.”

  
  


***

Will wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours. Hannibal had taken his phone when he’d led Will upstairs, but he’d left him his gun. The door to the room was unlocked- Will had tested it, just to be sure, only a few minutes after Hannibal had gone away- and there didn’t seem to be any sort of a trap. Will could leave, he could go downstairs and warn the other guests, he could wait here and shoot Hannibal the moment he dared to show his face again.

He wasn’t going to do any of those things.

It was a show of trust. Hannibal had taken the phone so Will wouldn’t call Jack, wouldn’t say something he would regret later, but he wasn’t exactly making an effort to keep Will prisoner. He probably already knew that Will wasn’t going to leave. He wouldn’t have revealed himself unless he was sure Will wouldn’t turn him in. He’d been uneasy before- probably not expecting Will to make the connection to cannibalism so quickly- but he wasn’t _afraid_.

Will lay back on the bed, silently cursing Hannibal’s house for having such nice things. No mattress had the right to be this soft. Especially not one belonging to a cannibalistic serial killer.

He thought back on what he knew. One: Hannibal Lecter was the Chesapeake Ripper. Two: Hannibal had, for some reason, _told_ Will he was the Chesapeake Ripper, although not in as many words. Three: Hannibal trusted him not to go straight to the FBI with this information. Four: the thought that his psychiatrist (and, if he was being honest, best friend) was a serial killer didn’t scare Will anywhere near as much as it should have.

The door opened silently. Will opened his eyes but did not sit up. He was comfortable, goddammit, and he wasn’t going to move until he had to.

“You’re not going to kill me,” he said.

There was a brief pause. “No,” Hannibal admitted. “I’m not. Not unless you force me to.” The mattress shifted as he sat down on the edge of the bed, far enough from Will that he didn’t feel uncomfortable.

“I could have left at any time.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Will was silent.

“I trust you, Will.” The mattress shifted again and Will finally forced himself to sit up, frowning at Hannibal, as the other man shifted closer to where he was laying. “You would have figured it out eventually. At least this way, I get to control the fallout.”

“I could have left at any time,” Will repeated. “You took my phone but you didn’t lock the door. I could have left. You didn’t take my gun, either, or my bullets- and yes, I did check. I could have shot you the moment you walked in. That’s not what I call ‘controlling the fallout.’”

“Tell me, if you had discovered this information on your own, rather than hearing me admit to it, how would you have reacted?”

Will’s grimace was enough of an answer on its own.

“That’s as close to controlling the fallout as I can get, with you.” Hannibal’s voice sounded almost _fond_ , and Will thought to himself how unreasonable it was that he made it so hard to dislike him.

“I can understand telling me. But in front of the caterers? Right before your dinner party? If I had reacted badly…”

“A less than calculated decision,” Hannibal admitted. “I will admit that most of what I have done tonight was rather… spur of the moment.”

“You admitted to being a serial killer.”

“Yes.”

“You admitted to being _the_ serial killer.”

“Yes.”

“And you… on a whim. On a _fucking_ whim. I could have shot you.”

“You still could,” Hannibal pointed out, gesturing to the gun that still rested in Will’s belt.

“You would kill me before I got the chance.”

“I can’t say I wouldn’t put up a fight. But it’s entirely possible that you’d get in a lucky shot. And people saw you come here tonight; if you went missing, even if I was uninjured by your attack, I would be a suspect.”

Will scowled at him. “I’m not going to shoot you,” he said. “You wouldn’t have left me the gun if I was.”

“Or perhaps I just wanted to see what would happen.”

“What’s happened is that I’m nowhere near as angry as I should be. And I’m seriously considering _not_ turning you in. What does that make me?”

Hannibal studied his face intently. “No,” He breathed. “You’re not angry at all, are you?”

Will averted his gaze.

“In fact,” Hannibal continued, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were _pleased_. Annoyed, certainly, but pleased nonetheless.”

“You’re the Chesapeake Ripper,” Will told him. “And you trusted me enough to _tell_ me that, and you gave me every chance to run away. And I know some of it was manipulative, or at least that’s how you’ll justify it to yourself, but the fact remains that you trusted me. Of course I’m pleased.”

Hannibal smiled. “Are you going to ask me to stop killing, Will?” he asked, a genuine curiosity in his tone. Will wondered what he’d do if the answer was ‘yes’.

He shook his head. “Why would I? What you do is beautiful. I appreciated it even before I knew, but now that I can see you, it’s… breathtaking. As long as you don’t kill anyone on my team, I don’t see any reason to make you stop.”

“And the food? I did save you some leftovers from dinner, if you’re not opposed to the ingredients.”

Will shrugged. “Why would I be? Meat is meat.”

Hannibal considered him for a moment. “How much of that is you talking, I wonder, and how much is me getting inside of your head?”

“I’m not sure. But somehow I get the feeling you’re not going anywhere anytime soon, so I may as well get used to it.”

Another small smile flitted across Hannibal’s face at that. “Indeed.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Will’s cheek before getting off the bed and standing up. “I’ll go fetch you some dinner.”

He left the room as quickly and silently as he had come, leaving Will staring after him. Slowly, he raised one hand to touch the spot on his face where Hannibal’s lips had just been. _Huh_. So maybe he didn’t have Hannibal completely figured out, after all.

  
  


***

“I’d like to take you out tonight,” Hannibal told him, passing Will a glass container of soup. It was Will’s break between classes and Hannibal had stopped by to bring him lunch.

“To dinner?” Will asked with a slight frown. Hannibal usually insisted on cooking his own dinners, both due to his skill (many restaurants did not live up to his exacting standards) and his delight in Will’s acceptance of his preferred type of meat. It had been four weeks since that particular revelation and they’d had dinner together several times.

“To the orchestra.” Hannibal corrected. “I understand it’s not somewhere you would typically go, but I’ve managed to procure two tickets for tonight’s performance and I would love it if you would join me.”

Will considered it for a few moments while he ate a spoonful of soup. “What’s playing?” he asked after he’d swallowed.

“Stravinsky’s _The Rite of Spring_.”

“Never heard of it. What’s in the soup?”

“It’s a clam chowder, Will. I assure you there’s no other type of meat in it.”

Will nodded and took another bite. It wasn’t that he minded Hannibal’s preferred eating habits- quite the opposite, in fact, if he was being honest- but he always liked to know what (or rather, _who_ ) went into the food Hannibal prepared for him. After the tomatoes in sow’s blood, Will was prepared for any meal to have a hidden element of his preferred protein.

The soup was, unsurprisingly, delicious. Will had always been a fan of seafood- unsurprising, since he was a fisherman- and this was easily the best clam chowder he’d ever had. He took another couple of spoonfuls before answering Hannibal. “What’s the dress code? I don’t exactly have anything super fancy.”

“Not to worry. I’ve taken the liberty of having a suit made to your measurements.”

Will rolled his eyes. Of course he had. He didn’t know how Hannibal had gotten his measurements, but honestly, he was far beyond caring at this point. “What time should I be at your house?”

“The performance begins at seven, so a little bit before six should suffice. We’ll have a light supper before we go.”

Will smiled despite himself. He and Hannibal had never defined what, exactly, they were. Doctor and patient. Criminal and criminal profiler. Friends. Judging by the amount of times Hannibal had him over for dinner, they might even be more than that, but neither of them had ever actually brought it up. Still, this was sounding an awful lot like a date.

“I’ll see you then, Dr Lecter.”

Hannibal smiled at him. “Don’t be late.”

  
  


***

They arrived at the orchestra just before seven. They had just enough time to slip into the auditorium and claim their seats before the lights dimmed down and the doors were closed. Will suspected Hannibal had planned it that way on purpose, knowing that Will wouldn’t be comfortable mingling with the crowd and having to be sociable.

“Have you ever been to an orchestral concert before, Will?” Hannibal asked him softly as the members of the orchestra filed onto the stage.

Will gave him a wry smile. “Does it look like I have?”

Actually, at the moment, it did. The suit Hannibal had had made for him fit perfectly and was more than fancy enough to allow him to blend in among the high-society people that surrounded them. It was a charcoal gray with blue pinstripes, just unique enough to be interesting without overwhelming Will’s more muted sensibilities. His tie was the same shade of blue. Of course, Hannibal had seen him in his day-to-day life, where he preferred flannel and jeans over whatever the hell he was wearing right now.

Hannibal’s suit, Will was amused to note, seemed to have been designed to match perfectly with his own. The pattern was different, of course- a muted plaid with a paisley tie- but the color of his blue-and-green plaid matched Will’s pinstripes and the swirls of his tie were a charcoal gray. Will wondered absently if he’d chosen Will’s suit to match his own, or if he’d had them both made specifically for this purpose.

“You look wonderful,” Hannibal murmured. Will was saved from having to reply when the music started up, thankful that the darkness of the theater hid his blush.

The music was, to Will’s surprise, _good_. Not that he’d expected it to be bad, but he’d never had much interest in the performing arts before. Maybe he just hadn’t been going to the right shows, because this was incredible. He wasn’t sure how much of his enjoyment was his own and how much he was leeching off Hannibal- who now seemed to live rent-free in his mind- but either way, he was enjoying it.

About twenty minutes into the concert, he became aware of the feeling of being watched. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, glancing around to see where the feeling was coming from. _There_. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of a man sitting three rows back from them, several seats to the left, who seemed to be glancing over at them every few seconds.

No. Not at them. He didn’t seem to notice Will at all; he was glancing over at _Hannibal_.

Will leaned in closer, his shoulder pressing against Hannibal’s as he whispered in his ear. “Someone’s looking at you.” He wasn’t getting malevolent feelings off of the man- nothing to indicate that he knew of Hannibal’s extracurricular activities- but he still figured Hannibal deserved to know.

“Short, brown hair, with a beard?” Hannibal whispered in return, not taking his eyes off the orchestra in front of them.

Will nodded once. Hannibal’s lip twitched slightly in distaste. “Ignore him. I’ll deal with it later.” He muttered, voice hidden under a particularly loud section of music.

Will nodded and relaxed back in his seat, although he didn’t move away from Hannibal. Their sides stayed pressed together as they watched the show, Will even going so far as to lean his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. They stayed like that until the music faded out and the lights turned on again for intermission.

“Shall we?” Hannibal asked him.

Will sighed as he sat back up. “If we have to.”

Hannibal stood up, brushing nonexistent wrinkles out of his suit, and offered Will his arm. Will took it with a raised eyebrow and a wry smile. “So, who’s the stalker?” he asked in a hushed voice as they made their way to the lobby.

“A patient of mine. It will be dealt with.”

“The way you… usually deal with people you don’t like?”

Hannibal shook his head minutely. “A simple referral should suffice, I believe.” At Will’s raised eyebrows, he added, “it would draw undue suspicion. Champagne?”

Will nodded and Hannibal took two champagne flutes from the tray of a passing waiter. “The show was very good,” he said, figuring that Hannibal probably wouldn’t want to keep discussing his _habits_ in public.

“Indeed. I’m glad to see you were enjoying yourself.” Hannibal’s enjoyment seemed to be genuine, a smile he saved just for Will. Before Will could reply, there was another voice from behind them.

“Oh, Dr Lecter! I didn’t know you would be coming tonight!”

As Hannibal turned to talk to one of his acquaintances, Will excused himself from the conversation. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy spending time with Hannibal, but there were a lot of people in the lobby and the noise was a bit overwhelming. He didn’t know if he had it in him to be sociable right now, not until he could get some fresh air at least.

However, he’d only made it halfway to the door when he was stopped by someone stepping into his path. His eyes met brown ones and he blinked as a sweaty-looking hand was thrust out to shake his.

Will shook it automatically, willing himself not to wipe his hand off on his suit as soon as he let go. It wasn’t like he could talk, really, what with how often he woke up in a pool of sweat, but at least he wasn’t sweating at the orchestra. The air conditioner was turned up so high that he wasn’t sure it was _possible_ to sweat in here, yet this man seemed to be managing.

“Franklyn Froideveaux.” The man introduced himself. It was the man from before, the short one Will had caught ogling Hannibal during the performance.

“Will Graham.”

“I saw you sitting with Dr Lecter. Do you know him?”

So Will’s suspicions were correct. He’d approached Will only to get information on Hannibal. Because, perhaps, he was… jealous? “Yes,” Will responded simply, not wanting to give this man any information.

“Are you a friend of his?” The man pressed.

“You could say that.”

There was a moment of awkward silence while Franklyn tried to figure out what to say. “I’m here with a friend of mine, too,” he said after just too long of a silence. “He’s around here somewhere.”

“Great.”

“Do you enjoy the orchestra? I’ve never seen you here before.”

Will sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Clearly, this man was _determined_. “It’s my first time, actually,” he admitted, then couldn’t resist the urge to twist the knife. “Usually Hannibal prefers to cook me dinner in his own home.”

Franklyn blinked, taken aback. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting for Will to know Hannibal so well. It may have been his first time to the orchestra, but it certainly wasn’t their first date-adjacent activity. “Oh. Is he a good cook?”

“Oh, he’s amazing.” Will assured him. “He’s very particular about who he invites to his table, though. And he hasn’t had much time for dinner parties since he and I met.”

There was another moment of silence. Will couldn’t resist a little smirk as he felt Hannibal approaching them, saving Franklyn from having to answer by wrapping one arm around Will’s waist and greeting him with a smile. “Will, there you are. I was wondering where you’d run off to.”

That was a blatant lie. Will knew full well that Hannibal had been keeping an eye on him since the moment he’d walked away. He’d allowed Franklyn to corner Will because he was… curious as to how he’d react? Yes, that sounded about right. And from the warmth in his tone as he addressed Will, he was quite pleased as to how it turned out.

“Dr Lecter!” Franklyn greeted him, sounding both excited and nervous. Will could see him taking in their body language, the matched suits, Hannibal’s hand resting on Will’s hip. “I was just chatting with your friend here about the orchestra. It was a lovely performance tonight, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Hannibal allowed, “and I’m sure it will continue to be once intermission is over. I particularly enjoyed the brass section tonight, wouldn’t you agree?”

Franklyn nodded eagerly. “Yes, absolutely. I’m so glad to see you here, I was worried that after how uncomfortable you were last time you wouldn’t want to talk.”

Hannibal gave him a tight smile. “I came here tonight to spend time with my partner, not to talk with you.”

“But you still came over to talk with me!”

“Actually, I think he came to talk to _me_ ,” Will corrected, interjecting himself back into the conversation with a false smile. “It was great to meet you, Franklyn.”

As they walked away, Hannibal’s arm still around his waist, Will could feel Franklyn’s eyes burning into their backs. “The pleasure was all mine,” he muttered, only just loud enough for Will to hear it.

Hannibal gave him a doting smile. “Very defensive of me, are we?” he teased.

Will finally gave in to the urge to roll his eyes. He leaned closer in to Hannibal as he steered them towards a group of socialites. “You set that up on purpose,” he accused, no real heat to his tone.

“Franklyn made the decision to approach you on his own. I simply chose to observe how you would react.”

“And did it meet your satisfaction?”

“Of course it did, my dear Will. You were breathtaking as always. Now, let me introduce you to some of my acquaintances.”

“Not friends?”

“I find I have very few people I would truly call friends. However, I assure you they will make for much more pleasant company than Franklyn.”

“Mmm. And maybe _they’ll_ actually know what they’re talking about. You and I both know the brass section did not live up to your standards tonight.”

“What a shame poor Franklyn does not share your keen observational skills. More champagne?”

  
  


***

They found the body the next morning. Will didn’t recognize him right away, nor did the name mean anything to him, but he was sure this man had been a member of the orchestra that had played the night before. Considering where he was found, that seemed like a safe bet, and Jack confirmed his suspicions only moments later.

“A trombone player?” Will repeated. He didn’t know a lot about classical music, but he was pretty sure trombones were in the brass section. Will’s first instinct was to look for Hannibal, to ask him if this display was one of his, but Hannibal hadn’t been called in for this one. And besides, blunt force trauma didn’t feel like a particularly Ripper-like kill, even though the cello down the throat did mimic the aesthetics of one of his tableaux.

“Yes. He would have been killed shortly after the performance last night.”

“It’ll be someone who went to the performance, then. Or if not that one, then another one where he played. He wasn’t a very good trombonist; whoever killed him thinks his loss will make the orchestra better.”

“How do you know he wasn’t good?” Jack asked with a frown.

Will ignored him, focusing instead on the body. “Saw him perform. He in particular didn’t stand out to me, but the brass section as a whole was rather lacking. It was a shame, since every other section was so good.”

“ _You_ went to the orchestra?” Jack questioned, sounding rather skeptical. When Will did not give a response, he added, “Did you see anyone suspicious?”

_Just the Chesapeake Ripper_ , Will thought to himself wryly, but kept that thought to himself. “No. But I didn’t exactly stick around after the show to chat.”

Jack nodded, accepting that answer. “You got anything else for me?”

“The killer brought him here to put on a show. Beyond that, I’m not sure.” The more he looked at it, the more sure Will was that this wasn’t Hannibal’s work.

“Will, is it just me, or is it becoming easier for you to look?”

It was, in fact, becoming easier. Mostly because he could simply borrow Hannibal’s mindset and suddenly the aesthetics mattered more than the violence. “I tell myself that it’s a purely intellectual exercise.” He lied. “It’s not becoming easier. I shake it off and I keep looking.”

In the corner of his eye, Garret Jacob Hobbs watched him and clapped.

  
  


***

“I think there’s something wrong with me.” Will was pacing through Hannibal’s study, squeezing his tumbler of whiskey hard enough that it left imprints in the flesh of his hand. “I’m losing time, I’m seeing things that aren’t there, I’m hearing noises and I don’t know where they’re coming from.”

Hannibal considered this, frowning over his own drink. The two of them had finally given up on the pretext of therapy, abandoning Hannibal’s office for weekly dinner dates in his home instead. This was the first one to officially be called a date, but Will was fairly certain the others had been, too.

“I can make you an appointment with a neurologist,” Hannibal suggested after a long pause. “I confess that I have some… suspicions as to what might be causing your distress.”

“Suspicions?” Will repeated, turning to look at him.

“Yes.”

He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and willing himself not to strangle the man. “You’ve known what it was for a while now, haven’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Hannibal hummed, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Encephalitis has a very distinctive scent.” It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was enough of one, and Will scowled.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Not originally,” Hannibal admitted. “I had planned to use your instability to frame you for the Copycat murders and have you arrested. Does that bother you?”

Will sighed, sitting down on the armrest of one of the chairs. “It really should. But you gave up on that plan weeks ago, why haven’t you told me since?”

“At first, I needed to wait until I was sure you weren’t planning to turn me in. And after… well, I admit I wasn’t aware of just how bad it had gotten. I’ll call one of my colleagues first thing in the morning and schedule you for an MRI.”

“Okay. I don’t suppose you went out hunting last night, did you?” Will asked, changing the subject.

“No, the murder at the symphony was not one of mine. If you’ll recall, I was with you for most of the night.”

That was true. They had gotten back to Hannibal’s house at around ten, but Will hadn’t left until nearly one in the morning. He had lost track of time while talking to Hannibal, something that he found himself doing more and more often lately.

“No, I didn’t think it was.” Will finished the last of his whiskey and waited for Hannibal to pour him another glass. “I think it was _for_ you, though. A serenade from one killer to another.”

“And you believe me to be this second killer?”

“I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Whoever this was, he’s killed before, but he’s never put on a show like this. Why would he, unless he wants someone to notice? And if it was someone at the performance last night, maybe they knew you didn’t like the brass section, maybe they heard you mention it.”

“So you believe the serenade was for me, and not just for my other identity,” Hannibal surmised. “A troubling thought.”

“We would have to kill him,” Will pointed out, taking another sip of his whiskey. “If he really does know who you are, we can’t risk him turning you into the police.”

Hannibal smiled. “We could have steak.”

  
  


***

Will had his appointment with Dr Sutcliffe the next day. Hannibal went with him, ostensibly for moral support. Will suspected that his motivations were more practical than that, as Hannibal had explained to him that encephalitis was a rare disease that certain people might be tempted to study at Will’s expense.

He was quickly diagnosed with anti-NMDA encephalitis and given a treatment plan. Hannibal offered to look after him in his home so that Will wouldn’t have to spend the next few weeks in the hospital; he accepted gratefully.

All of this went to say that, when Tobias Budge showed up on their doorstep a few nights later, Will was very, _very_ confused. “Um,” he said eloquently. “Can I help you?”

The man blinked. “Tobias Budge,” he introduced himself. “I have an appointment with Dr Lecter.”

Will’s brows furrowed, but he let the man in anyway. He figured that even if he was lying, Hannibal was more than skilled enough to take care of things if it came down to it. “What kind of appointment?” he asked curiously. They were at his house, not his office, so he couldn’t imagine that it was any kind of therapy. Especially not this late into the evening.

“He’s asked me to restring his harpsichord. Are you familiar with the instrument?”

Will shook his head. “He’s played it for me a few times, but I’ll admit I’m no expert on classical music. Have I seen you before?”

“I was at the symphony the other day. I saw you there, but I don’t believe we met. Terrible thing, what happened.”

“Yes,” Will agreed. “Tragic.”

Hannibal’s harpsichord did not to be restrung. Hannibal had been playing it for him just a few hours ago and it had sounded fine. Will wasn’t an expert on what harpsichords were supposed to sound like, but he was fairly certain Hannibal would have said something if it was wrong. Considering the brief glimpse he’d gotten into the other man’s eyes, he was fairly certain this was the killer they’d been looking for. And he was certain that Hannibal knew it, too.

Thankfully, Hannibal came down the hallway only a few minutes later. His eyes lit up when he saw Will standing beside Tobias. “Wonderful, you’re here. I’ll show you to the harpsichord- Will, would you mind setting the table for dinner?”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Will Mr Budge be joining us?”

“I’ve taken the liberty of preparing enough for three, although of course he is by no means obligated to accept.”

Tobias smiled. “I would be honored.”

  
  


***

Hannibal walked around the table, pausing to pour wine from the decanter into Tobias’s glass. “A late harvest Vidal from Linden,” he said as he poured.

“Oh, Virginia,” Tobias replied. “I thought it was French.”

“The Virginia wine revolution is upon us.”

Will sighed. Did Hannibal really have to be this pretentious all the time? They knew Tobias was a killer, and Tobias knew Hannibal was a killer, so there was no point to making polite conversation. Still, he knew how much Hannibal valued manners, so he said nothing and waited for Hannibal to make his move.

“I apologize for being so blunt, Tobias,” Hannibal said, sitting down at the head of the table, “but did you kill that trombonist?”

Will raised an eyebrow. Well, that was one way to get to the heart of the matter.

Tobias looked amused, giving Will a side-glance before answering. “Do you really have to ask?”

“No,” Hannibal admitted. “Just changing the subject. I believe Will here was getting rather fed up with us dancing around it.”

“He knows?” At that, Tobias did sound surprised. “Does he also know about how you spend your nights? I had assumed you were keeping your little pet in the dark.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed at the insult to Will, but he said nothing. He took a bite of his food.

“I’m nobody’s _pet_.” Will spat. “And yes, I’m well aware of how Hannibal likes to spend his time.”

Tobias hummed. “Interesting.” Then he turned his gaze back to Hannibal. “Franklyn gave you my message.”

Will’s brows furrowed slightly before he remembered that sweaty man from the symphony. Tobias must have been the friend he’d come with. It would explain how Hannibal had discovered his identity, if he’d used the man to pass on a message.

“Yes, he did.”

“Why are you here, Mr Budge?” Will asked him, officially done with polite conversation. “Your murder is being investigated by the FBI. You should be running, not making friends with other serial killers.”

“I was going to kill you,” Tobias admitted to Hannibal, leaning forward like he was sharing a secret. “After Franklyn introduced us at the opera.”

“Of course you were.” Hannibal sounded completely unconcerned. “I’m lean. Lean animals yield the toughest gut.”

“What stopped you?” Will asked Tobias.

“Or have you stopped?” Hannibal added, looking at Tobias with curiosity in his gaze.

“I stopped after I followed you one night. Out of town. To a lonely road. To a bus yard.”

Hannibal stopped chewing, setting down his fork. He fixed Tobias with a stern stare. “You’re reckless, Tobias.” He chided.

No, Will thought, _Hannibal_ was the one being reckless. They’d known there was a good chance Tobias knew his identity as the Ripper. He should have killed him right away, rather than having this dinner to drag everything out.

“Don’t worry,” Tobias assured him. “I’m not going to tell anyone what I saw you do, and do well. I won’t even kill _him_ , if that’s what you’re worried about.” He tilted his head to indicate that he was talking about Will. “So my recklessness doesn’t concern you.”

Will rolled his eyes. “As if you’d be able to kill me.”

Tobias raised an eyebrow, looking rather offended. “I’ve killed quite a few people in my time. You’re hardly the most difficult of targets.”

“I work for the FBI.” Will pointed out. “I do know how to look out for myself. And even if I didn’t, Hannibal has been known to get a little overprotective of me. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Tobias sighed, not looking like he really believed it. “I’m not here to pick a fight,” he placated them. “I’m just looking for a friend. Someone who understands me.”

“I know exactly how you feel,” Hannibal agreed. “Unfortunately for you, I already have a friend. I’m not in the market for another.”

Tobias cast another questioning glance towards Will, as if unconvinced of his value. “Then why did you invite me here for dinner? Wasn’t just to restring your harpsichord.”

“No,” Hannibal agreed with a small smile, standing up from the table. Tobias tensed, ready for an attack. Will only smiled. “I was going to kill you.”

Tobias stood up, glancing at his plate of partially-eaten food with barely disguised nervousness.

“Don’t worry, he wouldn’t poison you,” Will assured him, still not standing up from where he was seated. “He prefers a more hands-on approach.”

“Not to mention,” Hannibal added, “I wouldn’t do that to the food.”

Will rolled his eyes. Was that supposed to be a pun? He’d been catching quite a few of those recently, now that he had the context required to understand them.

There was another long moment of silence, and then both men leapt into action. Tobias grabbed for a knife from the table but Hannibal was easily able to knock it out of his hands. Will stayed at the table, watching with detached amusement as Hannibal quickly got the upper hand and wrapped one arm around Tobias’s neck. Tobias was, apparently, unarmed; Will couldn’t imagine what had possibly possessed him to come into a serial killer’s house without a weapon, but it seemed as though some people were just foolish.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Hannibal asked him, seeming only slightly inconvenienced by the struggling man he was currently choking into unconsciousness.

Will smiled, standing up at last. “I’d be happy to.”

And with that, he picked up the knife from where it had fallen and took a step towards Tobias. This was going to be fun.


End file.
